


Of monsters and men

by A_Quiet_Place



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal's grip on Will's mind, Hannibal's metronome therapy, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Season/Series 01, Will's nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8241104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Quiet_Place/pseuds/A_Quiet_Place
Summary: Will's dreams leave him shaken and distracted, seeing Dr Lecter once a week doesn't seem to be enough.





	1. Into the woods

A cool night breeze sends goosebumps across his flesh, his hands grope blindly for the blankets, a moment of disorientation as he realizes he is not laying down, he is standing. His eyes open slowly, fighting against the need to sleep, the need to remain blissfully unconscious to the world.

When he finally manages to force his eyes open and into focus, he finds himself lost. Will stands in a dark forest clearing, with only the silver light of the stars above illuminating the leaves and branches around him. He is dressed in the clothes he went to bed in, a loose t-shirt and a pair of boxers, it is cold. Around him the tall trees cluster, joined at the trunk, creating a wall of inky black to hide the paths beyond. 

At his feet, dark sprouts begin to push up from the soil like fingers grasping at the air. Will watches them with a disconnected fascination as they lengthen, parting through the dark grass. They reveal a symmetric pattern as they reach Will's ankles, the sharp points elongate, revealing their true form, growing into antlers that cage around him.

They grow like a thicket of thorns, stretching out above him to scratch at the sky. He barely moves as the horns slide across his flesh. The cold press of living bone slowly cocooning him, enveloping all that he is. He feels no alarm, there is something reassuring about the process, something familiar. 

He breathes out a sigh as the press of the antlers become almost like an embrace from beyond the grave, the bony thorns holding him close. He could stay here, it is soothing the way the antlers expand with his breath, with a heavy creaking groan like tree branches in the wind. 

He could stay, but there is danger here. Will is not alone in the forest. He knows this instinctively, it's like an itch between his shoulder blades, trepidation settling in like an old friend. 

There are predators who roam the dark woods, ones slippery enough to get past his solid outer shell and attack the soft flesh inside. Will can hear them now, coming closer to his little nest. Through the gaps in the antlers, he can see their shapes, lumbering beasts of darkness; their noses scenting him in the air bringing saliva to fanged mouths. They are none of them the same, but all beasts of the same ilk; all hungry.

Will can feel their claws scratching, low keening noises emitting from hollow throats. He can feel their desperation, their need. He knows them all intimately, as if they are offering up a piece of themselves to him, in return for his flesh. He feels his skin crawl with distaste, their offerings are inadequate, they would leave him unfulfilled while they gorged themselves on him.

At his refusal to emerge from his cage, they begin to howl and rend at the antlers around him. He can feel their claws sticking into his flesh, their hot breath on his face.

Will feels the beginnings of panic, the beasts wont let up their attack, and their desperation to reach him becomes more violent. They claw and snap at each other, all vying to be the first to reach him. He can smell the sweat, the blood, the putrid breath. His heart pounds against his ribs, all he can do is stand and watch, and wait.

The crescendo of howling suddenly stops, cut short mid note like someone had flicked a switch. The scratching claws fall away, the heavy press of bodies shifting into the dark trees like deer in fright. Will can only watch as a dark figure, tall, thin, and antlered appears at the edge of the treeline. Inhumanly long fingers, flexing slowly as it watches Will.

The hairs on the back of Will's neck stand up, a cold pit forming in his gut. He knows this creature is more dangerous than the others. He wants to flee its presence, the pounding of his heart tells him to run, when his mind knows that the antlers hold him in place. 

The creature doesn't move, it's eyes stay fixed on Will, glinting like gems in the moonlight. Will knows himself to be the object of it's full attention, an unwavering intensity that chills his blood. His heart leaps into his throat as the antlers protecting him begin to shrink and fall away, leaving him exposed to the beast before him. 

The beast takes a step forward.

Will wakes with a start, his heart pounding in his ears, body drenched in sweat, his breathing laboured and shaking. The world spins briefly, a sharp flash of pain arcing through his skull, pulling a sharp groan of pain from his lips. His hands tug through loose, wet curls, while bleary eyes took in his familiar surroundings.

His pack of dogs watch him from their cushions, ears perked up, soft whines in their throats. Will takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as his mind tried to catch up with itself, sending more sharp shocks of pain through his skull.

His hands tremble as they reach blindly for the painkillers on his bedside, nearly spilling them onto the ground as he struggles with the cap. The glaring red lights of his alarm clock tell him it's 3am, he already knows he wont be getting any more sleep tonight.

The mantra falls from his lips almost without thought:

It's 3am, I am in Wolf Trap, Virginia. My name is Will Graham. 

He will shower, change his clothes, go for a walk, and when morning comes he will visit Doctor Lecter.


	2. Down the rabbit hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Lecter begins his therapy session with Will.

Will arrives at Hannibal's office in the state of abrasive panic he seems so fond of. His protective mental walls are up, shown by the hunch in his shoulders, and the skittish shuffle he employs when moving. Hannibal almost smiles when he spots Will on a waiting room chair, curled in on himself like an injured dog ready to bite at anyone who gets too close. 

Will doesn't have an appointment for another two days, and he hasn't bothered to call ahead of time, yet there he is, staring somewhere over Hannibal's right shoulder, his face struggling to hide the myriad of emotions he is feeling. Hannibal has just finished with his first patient of the day, a man not worth mentioning in the same room as Will, so the surprise appearance of his newest obsession pleases him more than he can say.  
  
It doesn't seem to bother Will to wait, Hannibal could tell him it would be two hours for his schedule to clear and Will might just sit there, in determined resolution, such is his current state of mind. Another time Hannibal might be curious enough to find out what the suffering man would do if Hannibal were to refuse him for the day, but he has plans of his own that should not be kept waiting too long.   
  
He clears his schedule with a phone call before beckoning will into his office, forcing his expression into something of mild concern even though Will refuses to meet his eyes. Will doesn't speak as he stands but there is an air of relief about him that doesn't go unnoticed by the psychiatrist.   
  
Hannibal can't help himself, he refrains from moving as his patient hurries to enter the office; forcing Will to break his personal space to enter what he now considers a safe zone. The Doctor inhales the draft of air that follows him with his eyes half lidded in appraisal.

Will, as always, smells divine.

Underneath the smell of his dogs and deplorable cheap cologne is the scent of Will's panicked sweat. A musk like an autumn day by the river, the earthy smell of decay and life that makes Hannibal feel like _hunting._ That ever present irregularity follows shortly after, a sour note surrounded by the profilers personal scent, fever, possible internal infection, a cocktail of possibilities for the psychiatrist. It really can't be helped.  
  
He follows behind Will for a few feet, basking in the scent, only slightly lamenting the loss of the air flow as they both takes their seats to begin the session. A restrained smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he watches Will's movements, they are quick and jerky as if everything around him is scalding hot to the touch. 

There's a hard grit to his jaw and dark rings under his eyes. He looks so vulnerable it is almost tempting to tear at the man's ever shaking defenses, to plunder the fascinating mind beneath, but he is not ready to risk Will's unpredictable nature.  
  
Instead he settles in to play his favorite game of cat and mouse.  
  
He gives Will a moment to relax, keeping his own body language open, his expression calm and comforting. When he speaks to the smaller man it's with practiced and even tone, one used to draw Will in, to make him feel at ease. Hannibal has employed many subtle conditioning tactics with Will to achieve this effect, some Will refuses, some he accepts, it has been a game of trial and error for Hannibal, making their meetings so very interesting for someone as practiced in mind games as he is.   
  
Will is only aware of the surface tricks, he trusts Hannibal, he sees what Hannibal shows him and doesn't question it any further, content to breathe in the calm, unreadable presence that Hannibal offers.   
  
“How did you sleep, Will?” Hannibal begins, eyes focused, and interested.  
  
“You can't tell? What kind of psychiatrist are you?” Will offers a broken little smile, and a huff of breath as a laugh.  
  
“I would prefer if you told me. I don't like to assume.” Hannibal resist the urge to lean forward, he wants to be closer to Will, offer comforting contact, but knows the other man wont allow it just yet. He is patient.  
  
“The dreams have gotten more...” Will trails off, his eyes searching for the right word as if they could pull it off one of Lecter's books. “Invasive.” There's a hesitant tone to the other man's voice, it's not the term he wants but it will do.  
  
“Are you afraid to talk about them, Will?”  
  
“I feel like I am drowning.” The answer is deflective, but Hannibal forgives him, Will's voice has lowered to barely above a whisper. “My attention is being pulled thin over all these cases, and they seem to get worse no matter how many we solve.” He swallows thickly, and exhales to gather himself.  
  
“Yet you refuse to stop.”  
  
“I can't leave Jack alone to hunt the Ripper. He can't do it, he needs me.” 

Hannibal feels a thrill travel up his spine, it takes some effort to pull back the smile this time. 

“You enjoy hunting him.” He keeps his tone thoughtful, leaning away from accusations. Will opens his mouth to argue, to protest, _to lie,_ but Hannibal stands abruptly, and moves in a relaxed manner toward the center of the room, as if an epiphany had struck. It's a ploy to keep Will seated, dominating the space the younger man might feel the need to escape to.  
  
“This is what you dream about? Hunting?” It gave Hannibal pleasure to know he had infiltrated Will's subconscious, it would not be long until Will's waking mind was filled with him as well.

“No.” Will hesitates, watching him, disconcerted, unable to bring himself to answer further.  
  
“Hunting has been a part of human nature for our entire existence, Will, there is nothing wrong with seeking the chase, predator or prey. Which do you find yourself?”  
  
“We're not talking about a wild animal, Doctor Lecter.” Will frowns at him, but his muscles relax, signalling his will to remain seated for now.  
  
“Quite right.” Hannibal nods to him, conceding the point. He moves slowly toward his desk, gathering a few tools. “Are you afraid of finding him?” He turns back, holding a metronome light in hand and concealing a needle in the other.

Will's jaw clenches and unclenches, his eyes dart up towards Hannibal's own, halting briefly before making that elusive contact.  
  
“I'm afraid he will find me.”

The temptation to follow that thought down the rabbit hole is palpable, but he needs will relaxed and pliant.   
He approaches will with open intent, placing the items in view on the small coffee table between them. Will watches him without a word, his eyes scanning over the items with reluctant curiosity.

“There's something I would like to try to help ease your dreams.” He begins, taking his seat, fingers steepled together over long legs. “It is an unorthodox treatment, but I believe you will benefit from it greatly.”  
  
“You want to hypnotize me Doctor Lecter?” Will seems incredulous, his eyebrows knitting up over bemused eyes.  
  
“Do you trust me, Will?” Hannibal waits out the silence that follows his question, counting the seconds before Will finally answers.  
  
“Yes.”

 


	3. Baiting the cage

Will's mind is on fire, the burning pain spiking along his cranium like a moving brand. Smoke pours from his mouth and nose, filling the room as he gasps and shudders. He is asphyxiating, his chest heaves struggling for breath, but the fire sucks the air out of his lungs to fuel itself.  
  
His hands are heavy, his legs wont obey, he can feel gasping tremors wrack his body as he fights for air. The room around him dissolves and reforms in wisps before his eyes, coiling around him like smoke along water. He manages choked sobs while tears stream from his eyes in his panic, his chest convulsing in desperation. There's a layer of sweat seeping through his clothes, his palms are slick with it, causing his grip on his seat to slide away.  
  
“Breathe, Will.” The voice is like an echo in his mind, clearing a path through the smoke. Something warm and heavy clasps his shoulder and cradles his cheek and Will finally sucks in a desperate breath of air, his small frame shuddering with it. He throws his mind at the sensation like its a life line to reality.

The smoke recedes around him, stretching out like a fog bank obscuring his vision of what lays beyond. The fire burns low, taking the sharp pain down to a dull throbbing ache. The warm touch on his face and shoulder stay, their gentle movements declaring their sentience. Will finds himself leaning into the touch, his eyes seek out its origin but find only wisps of ghostly greys.  
  
“You are doing very well.” The voice brushes past his ear, swirling around him like parting mist. Will closes his eyes to listen to the low baritone rumble, it's safe, soothing, even. He can feel lips against the shell of his right ear, and the hand on his cheek moves to slide gently against the sweat on his jaw and down his neck.  
  
There's an intake of breath near his temple, followed by an almost imperceptible hum of appreciation.

Where there is contact on his skin he feels a tingle of connection, an undefinable closeness that makes his heart ache.  
  
“Tell me what you see, Will.” The voice urges him to look into the smoke and shadows. He can make out the shapes now, towering spires surrounding them on all angles, jutting out in all directions. Layers of antlers on antlers, reaching for the sky that he cannot see, caging him and the voice together. They stand like silent sentinels capturing Will's gaze, can't look away, every pass of wisp revealing new patterns of intricate entwining bone.  
  
He forgets to speak, he forgets the voice and the fire in his mind, he is a helpless captive of those beautiful spires. The hand that steadied his shoulder joins the other encircling his throat, slowly, giving him a chance to answer. It's those hands that bring him back to himself, a gentle squeeze, just enough to make his breath hitch. Will lets out a choked noise, his voice raw and desperate as it struggles to escape.

“My prison.” He manages a gasp, his heavy hands gripping the arms of the chair he's perched on. He doesn't try to free himself, it would be foolish to spur the ire from the monster at his back. He knows suddenly now, that is what the voice belongs to, he does not want to see it.  
  
“Do you hide yourself inside it, Will?” Asks the voice, there's a sweetness in its tone that has no right to be there. Will doesn't want to answer but the hands on his throat are threatening in their gentleness. His eyes close and he swallows thickly.  
  
“Yes.” When his eyes open again the cage of antlers has moved very suddenly closer, the spindly forms lurching out of the smoke like obelisks. His heart pounds against his ribs, his breath quickens and his jaw clenches tightly. The mouth at his ear makes a gentle hushing noise, followed by sharp teeth and hot gusts of breath against his skin.  
  
“Let us get you out of there.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for short chapter, I am sick.


	4. Checking the traps

Will stares up at the ceiling, his eyes out of focus, his hands limply at his sides. He's dimly aware of Hannibal beside him, perched carefully on the chair arm hands loosely clasped over his knees. The psychiatrist seems content to stay in companionable silence for the moment, allowing Will to collect himself.  
  
“I am finding it difficult,” Will states, breaking the silence finally, “to differentiate dream from reality, at the moment.”  
  
“What do you mean, Will?” Hannibal looks down at him, his maroon eyes half-lidded, the light hitting them at the right angle to show off the odd red tint.  
  
“I have been seeing things that I'm not sure aren't real.” He pauses his brows knitting together in a frown, “There are gaps in my memory, full hours of time just gone.” As he speaks the heavy, solid sound of hooves announce the presence of the imposing black stag that haunts him. It's dark coat a mass of feathers, it's horns reaching high and proud. It walks slowly across the room passed will, entering and leaving his line of sight, as if it has every right to be there. Will refuses to follow it with his eyes.  
  
“How are you finding work?” Hannibal doesn't need to ask if Jack is pushing him too hard, he knows the answer.  
  
“It's like I am adding to a library in my mind.” Will allows his focus to shift around the room, though his attention is resolutely on Hannibal. “All I need to do is, pick up a book and I am someone else.”  
  
“By someone else you mean a killer.” Hannibal regards him with silent patience. Will exhales slowly, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment, avoiding staring at the black fleshed monster that stands just at the door to the room. Its eyes are focused on him alone, in perfect silence, still as death.  
  
“How does that make you feel, Will?” Will feels like laughing at the question, but it only comes out as one of his pain filled smirks and a huff of breath.  
  
“Are you asking as my therapist or as my friend?” He rolls his head back against the back of the chair to stair at the ceiling. He doesn't want to look at the monster, it can't approach him here, not with Hannibal present.  
  
“Would my answer change yours?” Hannibal's voice is quiet, but genuinely curious.  
  
“If you were asking as my therapist I would tell you that I feel it is an essential part of my work, to know the minds of the people I hunt. I would tell you that I feel a great sense of obligation and accomplishment in being able to guess the next move.” Will takes in a breath, his shoulders dropping as he exhales. “If you asked me as a friend I would tell you that I feel as if I am fading away, getting lost between the pages.”  
  
He could almost let himself sink into unconsciousness right now, tired as he is. Hannibal's office feels safe, with the presence of the psychiatrist it feels invulnerable. Like a calm in the middle of a storm.  
  
The smaller man jumps slightly as the back of Hannibal's cool palm presses gently against the skin of his forehead, hauling his attention back to the conversation at hand.  
  
“How are your headaches?”  
  
Will can't help but close his eyes again, seeking familiarity in the psychiatrists touch. It is like a balm to his fevered mind.  
  
“Persistent.” He almost groans when the contact is broken. A diabolical ache throbs along his skull almost on cue, he is sweating heavily already. Hannibal shifts from his seat, and moves in front of will, placing two items on the coffee table between them. A needle and a metronome.  
  
“There's something I would like to try to help ease your dreams.” Hannibal begins, not waiting for the question. “It is an unorthodox treatment, but I believe you will benefit from it greatly.” There is something familiar about Hannibal's words but Will can't grasp the memory, and then it seems unimportant. His psychiatrist watches him with interest, dark eyes scanning his face for any subtle change in expression.  
  
“You want to hypnotize me?” Will offers a bemused smile. Hannibal returns it, his eyes flashing with some hidden victory.  
  
Before Hannibal can reply, Will has shifted forward in his seat, the lost stormy eyes capturing and holding calm maroon with determination and unwavering acceptance.  
  
“I trust you, Hannibal.”  
  
The cannibal smiles.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short but I feel this is the best end for the story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)


End file.
